


By Dawn's Early Light

by Dont_call_me_Carrie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, BAMF Maria Stark, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Families of Choice, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Tony Stark, Mental Health Issues, Moral Dilemmas, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Canon Fix-It, Tags May Change, Timeline What Timeline, Unreliable Narrator, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_call_me_Carrie/pseuds/Dont_call_me_Carrie
Summary: Here’s the thing: it takes a special sort of woman to marry one of the most prominent warmongers in America. Takes a spine of steel and nerves to match, being the wife of the head of not just one of the biggest weapons companies in the country, but also one of the founders of a vague yet menacing government agency and in the spotlight 24/7.Funny, how that part doesn’t make it into the history books. Funny, how everyone forgets a smile is nothing more than a baring of teeth.
Relationships: Howard Stark/Maria Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Maria Stark, Maria Stark & Tony Stark
Comments: 196
Kudos: 652





	1. Setting The Stage

**Author's Note:**

> **General fic warnings:** see the above tags? Those are the general fic warnings/recurring themes in this fic. Anything more specific goes in the warnings I put before every single chapter.
> 
> To sum up: the main premise of this fic is 'AU where no one in the Stark family is a very good person and Howard's alcohol problem is even worse than canon'. This is also an AU where morality and legality aren't always in agreement, acknowledges that getting out of abusive situation isn't something as simple and clear-cut as "just leave them", and that this fic's theme song is Martina McBride's "Independence Day" should be a pretty good clue as to where this is going [ _though with a way happier ending_ ]. 
> 
> If any of this feels like something that'd verge on uncomfortable territory, I suggest clicking the back button now. This fic's meant to be about recovery and found family, but that initial struggle is going to be a recurring element and one of the driving conflicts throughout the entirety of this fic.
> 
> Resources for anyone who finds themselves in a situation even remotely like this premise [mostly US-centric, but the link to DoSomething has international resources unless I'm mistaken]  
> [thehotline.org, on domestic violence](https://www.thehotline.org)  
> [loveisrespect.org, on dating abuse](http://www.loveisrespect.org)  
> [DoSomething.org](https://www.dosomething.org/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual, aka everything I've tagged for [ _e.g. unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, dysfunctional families, etc._ ]. Special emphasis on dysfunctional families this time, with non-graphic alcoholism and spouse and child abuse.

Here’s the thing: it takes a special sort of woman to marry one of the most prominent warmongers in America. Takes a spine of steel and nerves to match, being the wife of the head of not just one of the biggest weapons companies in the country, but also one of the founders of some secretive government agency and in the spotlight 24/7.

Funny, how that part doesn’t make it into the history books. Funny, how everyone forgets a smile is nothing more than a baring of teeth.

Everyone. Not just a handful of people, not just strangers, _everyone,_ including Maria Stark's own husband.

Normally, she wouldn't mind: it makes holding down the fort so much easier when everyone’s underestimating her. When just about everyone dismisses her as Howard’s trophy wife, as 'just' the mother of his child— instead of the woman who ruled his company's PR department with an iron fist and a beatific smile. The one who kept a sharp eye on the books whenever her husband was out on yet another Arctic expedition or whatever it was he did with his time when he wasn't at home, and did it all while raising her son to boot. 

Well. Makes it easier for her to work, anyway. Makes it a cinch to play things up with PR, when the world does half the job for her, of painting her as something soft and warm and demure, when in reality she’s never backed down a day in her life and had absolutely no intention of starting now. 

It's a very efficient system that works beautifully— right up until it doesn't. 

Here’s the thing: her marriage had been crumbling for years now, between Howard’s nonexistent work-life balance and his alcohol problem on the rare occasions he _was_ home. Those two issues alone were tricky enough to navigate, because even when love fades money buys many things up to and including silence, but. 

Before, it'd just between them two, had just been broken plates and white-knuckled silverware and slammed doors. But that, she can take, that's not where Maria draws the line.

No, her limit is when her soon-to-be-ex raises a hand against their son. 

Here’s the thing: in a fair fight, Howard has all the power in this situation, if they were to ever file for divorce. He’s got the money, and the influence. He's not the one who secured some of the contracts his company proudly flaunts, but it's his name on them and on the weapons. If he wanted to, he could get sole custody from whatever judge he wants, and they both know it— it's in his sneers and her _smiles,_ in the smell of whiskey on his breath and her constantly-dwindling stash of concealer.

In a fair fight, Maria wouldn't stand a chance

Unfortunately for Howard Stark, however, his wife only ever played for keeps.

It takes roughly a month after seeing the bruise on her son for Maria to finish making the arrangements. Roughly a month of smiling and nodding along to Howard's talks about _discipline_ and boarding schools and feeling her blood boil every time she saw her son flinch whenever her husband raised his voice. Roughly a month, to finish calling in the necessary favors, to get her hands on the money and necessary paperwork without raising any alarms and raise _**hell**_ on the way out. 

Because Howard made the same mistake almost everyone else had: he underestimated his wife. Forgot that he wasn’t the only one with access to sensitive documents, whenever he took his work home, and between the SHIELD paperwork and the business deals at SI, well…

[ _He'd made her son cry. It was the **least** she could do, really._]

The same day Maria walks out with her son, a suitcase, and two bus tickets, Howard doesn't even notice. Not when his empire's on fire, because suddenly now the press is aware of SHIELD’s existence, and of some of Stark Industries' more ambiguous contracts. Too busy dealing with government audits on his company, and under any other circumstance he might have even weathered the storm— except Obadiah Stane had thought he'd been clever sneaking off with a few shipments to some buyers in Sokovia, and while nobody would have given a second look at the books being handled by the CFO of Stark Industries three months ago, now was another thing entirely.

Meanwhile, the media has a field over the allegations of other possible infiltration of his assets, raising questions about his awareness of SHIELD operations in Central America and the Balkans. More problems, more scrutiny and any chance HYDRA ever had of existing in the shadows died a violent death when a particularly enterprising reporter cross-referenced SHIELD operational results with those of other agencies, and forwarded their findings to the CIA and FBI. 

In the chaos, nobody even thinks of asking where Howard Stark's wife went off to after dropping their son at the airport— up until he gets a notice from the boarding school arrives discussing payment options after last-minute cancellations, and it turns out that his son never arrived to his intended destination, and his wife hasn't been vacationing in Europe after all.

By that time, any trail they might have left has long since gone cold. All that's left is a car in a long-term airport parking lot, and an empty mansion with a note left on the dusty nightstand of their bedroom.

Not that it stops him from looking, when the pieces quickly fall into place— and so starts the largest manhunt in the country since the disappearance of the Lindbergh baby. 

In the meantime, a single mother and her seven-year-old son move into a small town, and quietly settle in. 

Maria works hard at whatever jobs she can find nearby. She explains away Antonio's initial shyness with a somber "he lost his father in a car accident", and doesn't breathe a word about the way her son had cried when saying goodbye to Jarvis, or the relief on his face when he read a copy of the letter she left for Howard. Says it was a tragedy, and takes a ragged breath while running her hand over the tan line on her ring finger, and lets everyone else fill in the pieces.

Small town gossip is nothing compared to what she'd dealt with before, really.

Sometimes, Maria almost misses her old life. Misses not having to look over her shoulder, misses living in a house with working plumbing and not having to worry about her son being able to reach his full potential. But.

Here, her son is safe.

Whenever she starts to feel guilt about taking Tony and running from Howard, she remembers the way her son had quietly pressed himself to her side with wide eyes whenever he heard angry voices for those first few months, and it _vanishes._

From the small army of private investigators he sent out, to the favors he didn't hesitate to call in, Howard Stark ensured no expense was spared when it came to the search for his son. 

...irony is, it’s the Winter Soldier who ends up finding them. By accident, even.

Maria very nearly has a heart attack when she sees the man tailing her, on one of her rare trips to the city because there were things she couldn't find in town—not without raising eyebrows, anyway.

The 'being followed' part wasn't actually very alarming; she had pepper spray and Tony had made her a taser for this very reason, since some of her... _connections_ tended to be found in the not-family-friendly parts of town. No, what scared her was the familiar way he moved—silent, but with a distinct air of leashed **_power_** and Maria'd seen it every time Howard had visitors from work over at the mansion.

If she didn't have errands to finish, Maria would've bolted right there and then. As it was, however, she serenely finished paying for the latest batch of fake IDs she'd commissioned, and kept the same expression even as she white-knuckled the taser when the man approached her. 

Up close, he didn't look anywhere near as intimidating: was it something in his eyes, that kept him from looking like some of the men that worked Howard? If anything, something about him felt almost.. _vulnerable,_ for some strange reason. 

"Do I know you?" He asked, and Maria managed to avoid reacting poorly by the skin of her teeth.

"I'm sorry. I don't think we've met." she replied with a politely confused shake of the head, and tried not to tense as he gave a slight frown before leaving. [ _Was it a coincidence? Oh, **please** let it be a coincidence._]

Unfortunately, however, luck was not on her side that day.

Maria hadn't even managed to leave the alleyway, before a swarm of jack-booted thugs [ _oh, god, that was a tac team, wasn't it, **oh no—**_ ] surged in, and she didn't have time for more than a glance before sprinting to safety. 

Damn, why'd she park the car so far away? Okay, no, she could lose a tail, wasn't too hard, this is why she wore disguises when she had to meet some of these people...

In retrospect, her preoccupation was probably why she didn't notice the man bowling into her. 

"Watch where you're going!" She hissed, and frantically checked to make sure she didn't drop anything.

"Sorry," he muttered absently, and she noticed the way he checked over his shoulder, and the fear in his eyes.

Oh, no.

"They're after _you?_ "

He blinked at at her. "Why would they be—oh, it's you. Wait, _why'd_ they be after **_you?_** " 

"No reason." Maria snapped, a tad too sharp to be anything other than an indictment, and promptly kicked herself. "Look, I don't think it really matters, let's just _go._ "

Of course he ran the same way she was headed. Of course.

"Why are you following me?!" He growled when he noticed, and Maria's grip on her taser had never been tighter.

"I have a car parked over here, jackass."

She yanked her keys out, and paused for a second. Intimidating as he was...no, she had to think of Tony, their safety came first.

...but he was in a pinch, possibly running from someone who meant him harm, and _**damn**_ if that didn't feel familiar because how many times had she wished for help, only for it to never arrive?

"Think you can duck, or hide in the trunk?" She asked as she unlocked her car, ripping off her hat and wig as she went.

He didn't hesitate to move towards the back of the car, looking over his shoulder. "Trunk. I'm too visible for anything else." 

"Fine, just get in there and don't make me regret this. I'll let you out soon as I can."

Not two minutes later, and Maria's face didn't change even when she saw the flashing blue-and-red lights in her rearview mirror as they surged to the area. 

She did her best to look nondescript, look average, look like just another suburban mother on a shopping trip whose only worry was about when she'd have to pick up her kids from soccer practice, and passed through unnoticed. 

She didn't relax, however, until nearly half an hour later, when she thoroughly lost any tail she might have possibly picked up and found a parking garage in a area that didn't look too busy.

"Thanks." The man said, once he was out, and—okay, _seriously,_ how did he, a man who must've outweighed her by at least two stone and had the build of a soldier, manage to look more vulnerable than her seven-year-old son?!

He looked inordinately grateful for the ride, had a look in his eyes that was uncomfortably reminiscent of kicked puppies and—

Oh, no.

Maria was probably going to regret this, she could already tell, but...screw it. She'd had to carve a path to safety with her own two hands because nobody else had been willing to help, and the look in his eyes reminded her of things she'd rather forget.

Maria hadn't expected to adopt a mostly-amnesiac man into her family, but she wasn't complaining. Much, anyway. 

"Okay, anyone asks, you're my brother who just got back from the Army, deal?"

"Deal."


	2. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual. Short chapter, as most chapters of this fic are going to be because it was meant to be a fairly fluffy AU despite its premise.

Maria scrubbed a hand down her face as the reality of what she’d just offered hit home, seconds after having said it.

Part of her wanted to reconsider it, wanted to take it back because she’d basically offered her _home_ to a complete stranger, and _**yet—**_

[ _ ~~the fear in his eyes had been a mirror to a past she’d rather forget~~_ ]

she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. 

But.

She had more than herself to consider. With that in mind, she whirled on him and gave him her sharpest _smile_ , acutely aware of how close he was and of the weight of her taser in her pocket. 

“Just one thing. I don’t care if you bring danger with you, goodness knows I’ve got my own problems I’m running from. But if you hurt a _hair_ on my son’s head, I will make you _ **regret it.** Do you understand?_”

Part of her was sorry for making him flinch, but this was the one thing she would **never** compromise. 

He nodded, and she finally relaxed after the long and unusually-hectic day she'd just had.

Okay. Perfect. 

Time to make a few phone calls.

Thanks to Peggy’s tips and her own experience with laying false trails for the army of private detectives Howard kept sending after her, it was relatively simple to establish a reasonable backstory for her new…cousin? Brother?

Hmm. There’d be more than enough gossip as it was, it’d be safer to go with brother. 

“How do you feel about hair dye?” She asked as she drew up a list.

“Excuse me?” He said with a slight frown as he adjusted the hat she’d foisted on him to help him blend in, and she paused to explain her train of thought.

“Story we’re going with is you’re my brother who’s just come back from the Army, remember? But right now your hair’s the wrong shade of brown for someone coming back from a deployment.” She gestured to her own sun-bleached russet hair, then to him.

“You’re more worried about my _hair_ than my arm?” He sounded incredulous.

Maria waved him off. “My son can handle that.”

Fake IDs, check. She’d need to be careful for a while because one of her connections was a bit curious about the rush job, but check.

Backstory that’d satisfy a gossip-hungry small town, check.

Trails for potential pursuers, check. 

“Tony, do you want to say hi to your uncle? He’s back from—”

Her son took one look at the tall and very imposing man standing by his mom in the driveway, and slammed it shut. 

Then, before the man-who-apparently-couldn’t-even-remember-his-own- _name_ could slump, it flew open again and they both were treated to the sight of a small child with rolled-up sleeves wielding a mechanic’s toolset that looked to be about half his weight.

“So, you’re the guy mom called about? You have come to the right place.”

Maria tried not to feel too smug when she noticed the nameless man’s disbelieving look. 

The feeling only intensified when she caught his muttered, “Oh my god it’s _genetic._ ”


	3. Skeletons In Closets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery isn't a linear path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _canon-typical violence and mental health issues, unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, shifting POV, etc._ ], PTSD, brief mentions of implied ableism.

_Hands covered in blood and so, so much death and **screaming** and he wanted to stop but he was _ **_d r o w n i n g—_ **

~~Soldat—~~ _no, the Winter Soldier—no, his name was **James** dammit—_jerked awake in cold sweat and a racing heart and nothing banished his latest nightmare quite as effectively as hitting the ground from his makeshift bed on the old couch.

Right. 

He was safe now, HYDRA would have a hard time getting to him here.

“James?” Maria’s voice called softly from the doorway, and he relaxed even more as the lights turned on and the last remnants of his fear left with the shadows. “Everything okay?”

He swallowed, and shook his head. “Nightmare.”

“Oh. Okay. Um…” She looked to be floundering for a way to help him, before she straightened up and part of him felt amused as he recognized the intent look in her eyes that screamed _‘I have an idea and God help anyone that gets in my way’._

Well. Good to know where Tony got that from. 

“I was about to get up anyway, got an early shift at work and one of Tony’s clubs is having a bake sale. Want to help?”

He took a deep breath, and nodded. 

Tony made his way to the kitchen not long after the brownies were put in. 

“Oh, learning the family recipe?” He piped up and James didn’t jolt because he was a super-soldier with the hearing to match but _how_ did Maria notice when her back was turned?

“You can’t have them until they’re done cooling,” She said without looking away from the cutting board, and thus completely missed both James’ and Tony’s faces as her son _froze,_ one hand still hovering over the pan of cookies. 

“You need a taste tester.” Tony immediately replied, and she nodded. 

“Yes. _After_ they’re done cooling.” 

This was the most domestic James had ever felt since...he could remember, really. It was nice.

Even more so because after the requisite five minutes, Tony poured himself a glass of milk and eagerly snatched up a few cookies, only to madk a strange face as he bit into one. 

“Who made these?”

“Your uncle.”

“Have you thought about being a baker? Because these are even better than the ones in the bakery by the park.”

James paused in the middle of adding a dash cinnamon to what had started out as shortbread but was now his attempt at replicating something he’d seen once, _where had he seen it? Had it been Before, or—_

Then, he bit back a curse as his metal arm spasmed and shattered the bowl he’d been using and flour and cornstarch and egg white flew everywhere and he’d failed, _he’d failed and **he was supposed to be better he was—**_

“I’m _so_ sorry, where’s there a broom I can’t—”

“Don’t worry,” Maria said with a very measured and calm voice. “It’s okay, it was an accident, James. We can fix this.”

He didn’t know what she saw when she looked at him, but he couldn’t help the rush of gratitude [ ~~ _and shame_~~ ] that came as she deliberately telegraphed her every movement as she handed him the dustpan and reached for the broom. 

What he did know, was the way Tony had paled. _Paled,_ and stepped back and cut off his chatter. 

In retrospect, that probably should have been his first clue.

They were at a grocery store, restocking everything they’d used for the bake sale. It was supposed to be just a normal, routine thing. 

Instead, he got faced with an interrogation from some small-town busybodies the likes of which he’d last seen during World War II and _no,_ he _**wasn’t**_ joking. 

“Cheryl, Linda.” Maria’s voice cut through the din, and he felt himself relax slightly at the sight of a familiar face in the sea of potential hostiles. “This is my brother, James. He just got back from the Army, so would you mind giving him some space?”

“Oh! Sorry, I just got a bit enthusiastic. It’s not every day we see a new face around here, you know.” One of the pushier ladies said, and gave him enough space for him to get to safety. 

Then someone caught sight of his arm and gasped. “Oh, is that—” 

Last time he’d seen that smile, it had been aimed at him when Maria had first mentioned her son. It was…very gratifying to see it used in his defense. 

“He’s had a hard time of it, yes. Let my brother _breathe,_ people.”

“Oh, um…thank you for your service, young man.” One of the older people in the crowd said [ _ ~~oh, if only they **knew—**~~_ ], and with that, they dispersed.

Well, mostly.

As they continued to go through their shopping list, James couldn’t help but pick up the whispers that seemed to follow them throughout the store. 

“That poor woman…”

“Car accident and a brother who’s a—”

“Show some _respect—_ ”

Huh. 

He’d known Maria had her own secrets, but…this indicated there was more to it than that.

He was still trying to figure himself out, trying find out who he was apart from the living weapon that HYDRA had made of him, but…he wouldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued. 

The third clue was staring him in the face, literally.

James took one look at the face on the milk carton, then at the ‘missing child’ sleeping right in front of him, and frowned slightly.

It wasn’t his place to ask, but he had questions and the distinct feeling that only Maria could answer them.

Because Stark? 

He might still be having memory issues, but for some reason, that name rang a bell. 

“I thought you would’ve noticed by now,” Maria said with a tight smile, “that what some people say, and what the reality is, are two very different things.”

“I just want to know _why._ ”

“And I just want my son to grow up in a house where he doesn’t have to be afraid of getting hurt in his own home.”

_Oh._

“Wait, you mean you did… _ **this,**_ ” James gestured vaguely but still couldn’t fully encompass the magnitude that was the sophisticated network and falsified records and emergency cash that would have made a secret agency proud, “to hide from your ex?”

“What do you know about Howard Stark? Not what the papers say, but him personally.” 

He started to open his mouth, but stopped. His memories were shot, but...for some reason, he had the distinct impression that Howard was the kind of guy who pulled out all stops to get things done. 

And by the looks of things he was very, very rich and powerful.

James didn’t know what face he made, but Maria nodded. 

“ _Yeah._ I did my best, but he…apart from _that,_ ” she gestured at the milk carton sitting innocently before them, “rumor has it there’s going to be a national organization formed just to search for missing children. And that’s not even counting the private detectives Howard keeps sending out. So you might understand just why I know about _hiding._ ”

Well. That changed things.

Maria was good, had worked wonders with what she’d had at hand, but… ~~the Winter So—~~ _James_ knew he could help strengthen their cover even more than he already had just by living with them.

( _”I won’t say I’m sorry because I’m not, but…thanks for the help. They’re looking for Tony and me, with you in the picture a lot the heat’s been taken off.”_ )

But first things first, as influenced by the way he’d seen _ **red**_ when he’d learned of the abusive alcoholic that Howard Stark apparently was behind closed doors: time for these two to learn self-defense.

That way even if he didn’t get the chance to take a swing at the bastard, at least the people who’d sheltered him wouldn’t simply be at anyone’s mercy _ever again._

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you.” Maria said once, after a successful workout.

He pushed back memories of dead-eyed men squaring off against him, of little girls training until they dropped [ _ ~~of pushing and pushing until bones broke but the instructors were still unsatisfied with some of their performances—~~ no, **stop**_ ], took another sip from his water bottle, and nodded slowly.

“Yeah, I…think so.”

She eyed him, then clapped a hand on his shoulder and started heading back inside. “I’m in the mood for carbonara. Want to learn?”


	4. Moments Between Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's perspective on things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because of different priorities, canon-typical violence and mental health issues, mentions of domestic violence and its aftermath, etc._ ], with a special emphasis on dysfunctional families and families of choice.

_“I just want my son back,”_ the man on the screen pleaded to his unseen audience across the country, and if Tony didn’t feel sick, he would’ve scoffed.

So that’s the story Howard was going with now?

Tony wasn’t sure if he felt more disgusted or outraged.

The bastard had rewritten his story more times than he could count, and that had been _before_ they’d left.

“Oh, you’re exaggerating, Maria” this, “Man up, Stark men are made of iron” that, and not a word to acknowledge the late nights when Tony could hear his parents arguing, before Jarvis ushered him off to another wing to safety, because out of sight was out of mind when Howard was this drunk.

[ _Jarvis had been out sick the evening Howard had hit him. Tony didn’t know how to feel about the fact that if it weren’t for that flu, they might have still been living together to this day._ ] 

And now this.

As if they ever had been that happy family Howard kept talking about to the papers. As if Tony didn’t know full well that he’d only ever been a status symbol to his father, and that Howard was more pissed that his wife had stolen his picture-perfect prodigy than anything else because Howard had never spent more than five minutes in the same room with him sober.

Seeing his face now, Tony got a bad taste in his mouth as he went on because it’d been years but the asshole couldn’t just _let go,_ could he?

“—reward for information on his whereabouts. Please call—”

Tony gritted his teeth at the now-familiar spiel, but dutifully took note of the sketch artist’s rendition of what he’d look like now. If only to know what to avoid for future disguises.

Then, that done, he turned the television off, grabbed a nearby pillow, and screamed into it until he wasn’t seeing red because _how dare he Howard had **no right—**_

As a kid, Tony’s worst nightmare had been Howard finding them.

Had been coming home from school to an empty house and _knowing_ his mom’d been arrested, or getting called to the principal’s office and being told his father was here for him, or being recognized because he’d forgotten to put on the makeup that kept him from being the spitting image of Howard Stark, or—

The list went on and _on_ and **_on,_** and Tony found himself shuddering awake every damn time.

“Nightmares?” Tony asked quietly as he moved to pour himself a glass of warm milk. It would’ve been hot chocolate, except he didn’t want to wake his mom up when she’d had to pull a double shift. _Especially_ not when it was oh-dark thirty, just because of a stupid dream.

In the doorway, Uncle James startled and whipped around, wild-eyed.

Tony gave him a sympathetic smile, and poured him one too, careful to give him his personal space even as he pushed his mug within reach.

“You too?” Uncle James sounded dubious, but at what, Tony couldn’t tell.

“Yep.” He replied. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

He toasted him with his glass and a sardonic smile. “Fair enough.”

At any given moment, Tony has a roll of duct tape, a Swiss Army knife, and a watch within reach.

In his house, there’s two— well, three, now that Uncle James moved in with them— bags with fake IDs and emergency cash and a change of clothes ready in case they ever need to run, multiple escape routes planned out, and an action plan in case they ever get separated. 

There’s never been any reason to use them [ _ ~~not yet~~_ ]; this town is a sleepy place, where the most exciting thing that happened in the past ten years was the time some high schoolers filled City Hall with balloons. 

It was nice. 

Apparently Uncle James thought he was dangerous. 

Which, okay, true— the way he handled kitchen knives was evidence enough of that.

But.

He wasn’t dangerous to _them,_ which is the important part. Because hey, everyone was dangerous! Hey, if he wanted to, Tony could build a small bomb with just the stuff he had in his pockets, it wasn’t like the guy was special or anything.

Tony knew he was safe with Uncle James, no matter how many times the man woke up screaming in the living room, no matter how many mugs he cracked.

It’s just—

Look, it’s a choice, okay? Just because you can doesn’t mean you _should,_ the important part was what someone did with the power they had. Uncle James was not someone he’d want to meet in a dark alley, sure, but…he wasn’t **_dangerous._**

 _Howard_ was dangerous. The few times that Tony’d seen him sober, Howard had been all sneers and disdainful commentary and “not good enough”— and when he was drunk, well…there was a reason they’d left the way they did, simple as that. 

_His mom_ was dangerous. Heck, she was probably the scariest person Tony knew, considering everything. When the going got rough, she had a smile like bared teeth and razors in her words and could drive a man to tears within minutes if she put her mind to it. Goodness knows they'd never have made it out of Cincinnati otherwise.

Uncle James?

No. Not in a million years. There was a softness in his eyes that Tony sometimes had a hard time wrapping his head around, something kind and warm that wouldn’t have lasted a month under the same roof as his father.

He was jumpy, was still settling into his own skin— but Tony could already see the kind of person he was, and dangerous wasn’t it. He wasn’t the kind of man who took his anger out on others, who hit things and then people and used every piece of leverage he had to force everyone else to do what he wanted. 

Uncle James was quiet, and didn’t impose. He hunched his shoulders after nightmares, and flinched whenever he broke a plate, and didn’t complain about the lumpy couch in the living room even if his feet stuck out whenever he slept. He was taller than Howard, and broader too, but never used his size to intimidate anyone other than creeps.

‘Dangerous.’ Ha.

Tony snorted, shook his head, and reached for another brownie.


	5. A Close Shave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual. That's it. Kind of fluffy this round ~~because it's the calm before the storm~~

_**NOW:** _

Tony hunched over the bathroom sink, stared into the mirror, and scowled. 

The face that reflected back at him was the spitting image of his father, and he _**hated it.**_

Hated how, whenever he stopped smiling, his face started to fall into familiar lines. Despised the way his scowl looked so much like Howard Stark’s sneers on the newspapers [ _ ~~and in his memories~~_ ]. 

Why did he have to take so much after his father? Words could not quantify just how _ **unfair** _it was that he naturally looked so much like the man who’d first made him feel bone-deep _fear_ and helpless anger, instead of…well.

He sighed, and reached for the bottle of hair dye that made his hair look more like his mom’s, which sat right by the brand-new shaving kit he was now going to need if he wanted to continue avoiding scrutiny.

[ _But really— he knew puberty wasn’t going to be fun, but it could’ve at least come without the heart attack that he was going to become his old man._

 _He **wasn’t.** He **refused**._]

** _THEN:_ **

Other boys in his year sometimes talked about stuff in the locker room. About how they’d learned to shave with their fathers, about how they were learning to drive, and other random crap like car maintenance.

Tony kept his mouth shut, whenever it came up.

It was a good thing his father’s ‘death’ was common knowledge, by now; if it wasn’t, if he’d been asked, he wasn’t sure if something would slip out if he were to ever open his mouth. 

Wasn’t sure he’d be able to bite back, _‘everything you’re talking about I learned from my mom’_ , or _‘I could reverse-engineer any car I can get my hands on, and put it back even better than before’_.

Even if…sometimes, he could almost see himself envying them. 

Could imagine how some moments must’ve been like, for his classmates: could, if he squinted _really_ hard and tilted his head, almost see the appeal of having an adult he could look up to and be proud to call ‘dad’.

Only problem was, that ship had long since sailed. 

He didn’t have a father he could point to with pride and respect; his mom said Howard was a good man, once, but…try as he might, Tony still can’t see it. Especially he distinctly remembers evidence pointing to the contrary, behind the closed doors of the Stark Mansion. 

Eh, whatever. He didn’t need a father, anyway. 

** _NOW:_ **

“Geez, Tony, what _happened?_ ” Uncle James said with wide eyes as Tony continued gritting his teeth and tearing up bits of toilet paper for the nicks he hadn’t gotten to yet. 

“What do you think? Cut myself shaving.” He ground out, more focused on avoiding getting blood on his shirt than anything else. 

As such, he completely missed the conflicted look that James had for a second as the man paused, then sighed and moved to help staunch the bleeding.

“Next time, _let me know._ I’ll teach you. That way you _won’t_ look like you lost a fight with a lawn mower.”

** _THEN:_ **

“Who taught you how to drive?” The Driver’s Ed instructor gasped, one hand hovering over the brake and the other squeezing the armrest with a white-knuckled grip. Huh. Tony gave him brownie points for managing to avoid cursing, he'd been especially proud of that one turn where two wheels had nearly left the ground while he'd been switching gears.

“My uncle.” Tony lied easily, as if his mom hadn’t taught him how to lose a tail since his feet could reach the pedals.

“The man who dropped you off?” 

“Yeah, that’s him." Tony'd been running late and Uncle James had been more than happy for an excuse to give him a lift on his motorcycle. Even more so, when he heard about his evil plan on the way. "Mom thought, _‘hey he drove in war zones, he’s got experience’_ and here we are!” He continued cheerfully, and pretended to miss the way the poor bastard paled.

Normally, he didn’t mess with people this way. But after having overheard the instructor badmouth his mom one too many times, well…the opportunity had been too much to resist.

_**NOW:** _

“Okay, so first things first: we’re doing it right this time. That means tossing this piece of—”

“Hey! I spent good money on that.”

“Kid, it’s _literally_ disposable. Now, as much as I’d like to just jump in the deep end, straight razors are a bit much right now so here’s how you use a safety razor. Okay, so first you need to prep…”

“You do know everyone at school uses disposables.” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Eh. Anyone asks, call me old-fashioned.” Uncle James dismissed with a shrug.

In the mirror, they shared a knowing look, and Tony couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his corners of his mouth.


	6. The End of An Era

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, canon-typical violence and mental health issues, etc._ ], with some timeskips and the start of the reason for the tag 'timeline what timeline' because of Plot

They’d been so, so careful.

Maria’d balanced a full-time job, the PTA, and the local homeowner’s association on top of an impressive network specifically meant to throw private detectives off their trail; Tony had _invented an **AI**_ just to check for any possible new developments in the search, as well as taken great pains for the only A on his report card to be in shop class. James’ job as a line cook was possibly the most notable thing about their household. 

It was hard work, passing as average. To be able to live a quiet and peaceful life.

It all came to a screeching halt one evening, when Tony spotted the guy who rolled into town with a cheap suit and blandly unremarkable face that _screamed_ danger.

“Houston, we’ve been made.” Tony muttered with a calm he didn’t feel, and quietly pushed his watch’s emergency button before turning back to the car he was working on.

He couldn’t leave right now, it’d be too obvious. He _never_ clocked out early from the shop, and couldn’t afford to be memorable now.

All he could do was pretend everything was fine, and hope. 

His mom had always been prepared; they’d had drop bags ready since they’d first started running, and Uncle James’… _situation_ only meant that they were even more ready to start running at the drop of a hat. 

By the time he’d arrived, JARVIS would have long since sounded the warning and mom and Uncle James should have each grabbed their own bags and a vehicle to get the heck out of dodge and go to ground, and check in with JARVIS before proceeding to phase two. 

Only…

That sure was a lot of unmarked black SUVs. And they were passing _right by_ their house but not surrounding it.

The agent types were headed to the outskirts of town, instead.

Tony wasn’t going to question it, either way. He just ducked in, grabbed his bag, and _**ran.**_

The entire area was now swarming with g-men, and Tony had never been so grateful that he wasn’t like one of the dumb jocks who’d driven out to the meteor crash site because they were apparently being taken in for questioning and he was good at disguises, but he wasn’t _that_ good. [ _ ~~Not yet.~~_ ]

As it was, he’d had to bullshit an excuse to leave town, and never had he been as grateful to have been part of the robotics club because they bought his excuse about regionals. The oil stains only helped sell his story, too.

But it’d still been nerve-wracking, plastering on a smile and showing off his shitty half-finished ‘remote-control car’ and gushing about transistors to the agent who eyed him dubiously, but it got him out with a backpack and his car and that’s all he needed, in the end. [ _It was more than they’d had, last time._ _It was enough_. _~~It **had** to be.~~_]

Tony ran.

Ran and pushed his car to its limits, ran and switched out the plates several towns over. Kept running, and didn’t stop.

His mom had checked in, she’d made it out.

Uncle James, however…

JARVIS had registered Uncle James pushing his own emergency button in recognition of the warning. 

Had registered him grabbing his own drop bag, and taking his motorcycle to go to ground.

And that was it. 

Tony and his mom were safe. Uncle James was missing, last seen in a town swarming with agents from some government agency. 

Tony was 16, so close to being a legal adult [ _ ~~ **finally** safe from Howard—~~_] he could almost _taste it_.

But.

That didn’t matter a whit in the face of missing part of their family— because even if it wasn’t by blood, Uncle James **was** family. 

“What do we do now?” Tony asked, because he was 16 and this wasn’t the first time they’d had to leave their past behind but it was _different_ this time and _he didn’t know what to do._

[ _Funny, how so much can change in the blink of an eye._ ]

“Oh, tesoro.” 

The last time he’d seen that look, his mom had burned the closest thing they had to an empire. 

“For family, we raise _**hell.**_ ” 

To their credit, it takes roughly three days for SHIELD to discover that apart from being within range of an extraterrestrial object giving off very strange readings, the nearby region was also involved in…very strange things. Like the offshoot HYDRA cell that had somehow popped up in the chaos, but even _that_ paled in comparison to the discovery that they’d found the last known location of the missing Stark heir in the small town not five minutes' drive from the crash site.

Three days.

By then, the trail’s started to go cold. [ _Again._ ]

But this was the biggest breakthrough in the case in nearly a decade, and Howard Stark was _nothing_ if not relentless when it came to searching for the people he wanted. 

Tony and his mom are hard-pressed to continue flying under the radar; the pressure Howard’s exerting means that the risk of discovery is even higher than ever. 

Great. 

[ _Like things weren’t hard enough._ ]

Sometimes, rarely, Tony almost considers it.

Considers buying into the sob story Howard puts out, wonders if he’d be able to stomach turning himself in and the fallout of being ‘found’ after so long. 

It wouldn’t be hard, if he wanted to; just one phone call, just one glimpse if he’s not careful about his disguise, and just like that it’d be _over,_ no need to hide anymore.

Howard could get the perfect heir he wanted, and…Tony could be able to access the staggering number of resources his father had at his fingertips to find the last of his family, instead of building his own computer from spare parts and skulking around Internet cafes to hack databases in the hopes of finding out what happened to Uncle James. 

If he wanted to.

Tony was over twice the age he’d been since he last saw his father in person, could reliably defend himself from his fists and mature enough for Howard’s sneers to no longer affect him. 

…no.

Maybe it was incredibly selfish, but Tony _refused_ to go back. 

Though part of him felt guilty for not using everything at his disposal, he also knew Uncle James would never forgive him if he went back the way he sometimes considered [ _ ~~or would he? Tony remembered early on, the look in his eyes and he hadn’t talked about his past much but Tony wasn’t stupid, he knew HYDRA was bad news, shouldn’t he be pulling out all stops to help his family? Shouldn’t he—~~ no, **stop**_ ].

Now that Tony’s older, now that he has JARVIS in his pocket and a network in place, sometimes it’s safer if he and his mom travel apart. She had felt bad about it early on, but…needs must.

Besides, it was easier to lose a tail when it was just one person. And it was faster covering ground that way [ _more efficient, when searching while trying to remain incognito_ ].

Tony’s eighteen birthday is celebrated with a phone call and a slightly stale muffin from a convenience store, JARVIS quietly whirring in the background. 

It’s not what he’s expected. Not as significant as he’d been imagining, somehow: there’s no feeling of invisible chains lifting, no _‘it’s over, Howard officially no longer holds any power over you’_ sensation. 

Just the constant, acute _loss_ and uncertainty that he and his mom felt every day that they didn’t find a lead. 

[ _ ~~Nearly two years, and not even a body.~~ He was still out there. He **had** to be._]

James came to with a sharp gasp that quickly turned into a _snarl,_ and started thrashing again.

Where was he? _When_ was he? That squadron had come out of nowhere and they’d just stuck him in cryo and he was supposed to check in and oh God, not again _never again **he refused** he’d die before HYDRA could wipe him again—_

“Hey, easy there!” A sleek black and gunmetal grey robot yelped, one hand flying up while the other continued wrenching the door to his chamber open. “Friendly, here, area’s secure for now. You’re safe.”

“Who are you.” James immediately asked, pinning him with the darkest glare he had to focus on the now rather than— [ _ ~~were Maria and Tony safe? Had they been captured too? Oh fu—~~ **no,** not now, **later**_ ] _other_ things. 

“Funny you should mention that. I am Iron Man.” The robot replied, and then the faceplate lifted up and _oh._

Oh, _ **no.**_

“Sorry I’m late,” a Tony who looked much older than the teenager he’d said goodbye to that morning [ _ ~~not ‘that morning’ oh gods **how long had he been out—**~~_ ] grinned ruefully back at him. “But I’m here to rescue you.”


	7. Moments Between Blinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's search for the Winter Soldier, and the birth of Iron Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, canon-typical violence and mental health issues, etc._ ], more timeline-crunching and timeskips, plus some minor profanity.

Tony blew air into his hands, and once again cursed himself for having ditched his last pair of fingerless gloves three— wait, no, _four_ states ago. 

Dammit, he could see his breath and this wasn’t even the hard part!

Also, how was it that Middle-Of-Nowheresville felt colder than Siberia?! That was _unfair_ on a number of levels. Ugh. Once he found what he was looking for, he was taking a vacation. Florida sounded nice. Florida probably didn’t have him checking his lockpicks to make sure they hadn’t fused to his skin because the cold cut right through his jacket and boots and if he weren’t also ready to bolt at the slightest creak Tony would’ve worn the cold-weather gear this sort of mission deserved. 

He’d already resigned himself to feeling chilled to the bone when he’d started this, but once again he scowled and tugged up his cowl and pretending it wasn’t the adrenaline that kept his teeth from chattering with every second that passed as the guard lazily walked past, a steaming mug in hand.

The things he did for his family. 

Why the fuck HYDRA had a branch in Minnesota, Tony would never understand. But it gave him another few solid leads and more intel so he wasn’t going to question it. Much. 

Eh, whatever. Wasn’t like it mattered anyway, it went down just as fast as the others had.

…the less said about the Kilian Incident, the better for all involved.

No, _really,_ because sure his mom’d find out somehow and then all hell would break loose because last thing he needed was for her to worry about him on top of everything else. 

Not when Howard and SHIELD were practically breathing down their necks. Not when her network was under fire and every last movement was blood in the water for the army of private detectives just waiting for the slightest clue on the location of the missing Stark heir. Not when she looked haggard these days, trying to cover up their trail with what little resources they had at hand. 

All his mom knew was that he’d had a close call near Memphis, and that’s how it would stay. 

Nothing about being harassed by the creep who wouldn’t shut up about rings, or goons who’d kidnapped him when he said no to their skeevy proposal-thing, or… _ **anyway.**_ Didn’t matter, it’d been Tony who came out on top of that particular mess, obviously he could take care of himself. 

He had a kickass new suit to prove it, even, and once he got his hands on better materials the sky would be the limit. 

His mom was very pale the first time she saw him testing out the repulsors.

“You weren’t kidding about the sky being the limit.”

“Nope!” Tony replied, trying to keep his tone just chipper instead of _ **this**_ close to ‘on negative two hours of sleep but had an idea’ mania.

He failed. 

“Get some sleep.”

“But—”

One look was enough for him to sag, and start putting his tools away. Bummer.

Okay, so he’d gotten the idea for the suit because of pretty shitty circumstances but you know what? It was so, _so_ worth it. 

Because before, Tony’d depended on stealth and DUM-E and You to be his backup for getting intel, but now?

Discovery of the day: the suit made breaking into HYDRA bases that much easier. Ditto for blowing them up, afterwards, and as a bonus JARVIS was now in his ear. 

…and then SHIELD decided to be an even bigger nuisance than usual.

“ _Are you kidding me._ Did someone seriously just try and shoot me with an _arrow?_ ” Tony muttered as he ducked back behind the last corner.

As if his luck wasn’t bad enough, however, Tony recognized the shape of its attachment just in time for the EMP to go off, trapping him in over twenty kilos’ worth of dead weight.

Well, shit. 

Moments like these, Tony was inordinately grateful that Younger Him had been a paranoid bastard and had a backup system in place.

Unfortunately, that still left him fighting off some redhead for roughly five minutes in the meantime.

Tony hadn’t expected to use Uncle James’ self-defense lessons this way, nor for them to have been as effective as they were, but he wasn’t complaining. Not when it was pure muscle memory that had him blocking some of her kicks, and using his weight and desperately trying to remember how his uncle’d maneuvered his arm when it came to distributing force because this ‘Agent Romanov’ was _**not**_ pulling her punches and _thank fuck_ he’d moved to avoid line of sight because last thing he needed was Robin Hood trying for target practice on top of everything else.

Ugh.

He almost missed the days when Minnesota was his worst mission. Keyword being ‘almost’.


	8. The Only Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maria's been very busy. Whether or not that is a good thing is yet to be determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, canon-typical violence, conflict of lawful vs moral, etc_ ], some timeskips, etc.
> 
> aka, the chapter in which Maria becomes a Moriarty of sorts.

“Call for Juno,” they’d say. “She can help.”

Tony did not question how his mom worked.

Partly out of self-defense because she’d somehow figure out a way to twist the conversation until he was half a second from talking about the Kilian Incident, and partly out of plausible deniability.

Well, no, make that mostly because of plausible deniability. Look, all he’ll say is that he didn’t get to Siberia all by himself, and leave it at that, okay? 

So if his mom keeps getting progressively better-informed, until she can somehow get a dossier of intel that’d rival any of the alphabet-soup agencies out there, Tony’s not about to ask.

Here’s the thing: Tony clearly remembers when his mom’s network stopped being a low-key ‘keep an ear out’ thing, and started getting into ‘…I think she might be gunning to be a Bond villain’ territory. 

Can clearly put a date on it, even: three days after SHIELD rolled into town, and noticed that the mechanic’s assistant didn’t show up to school, and it became obvious that they’d somehow stumbled upon the last known location of the missing Stark heir.

Fun times. 

Especially because in the time since, he and his mom’d been too busy dodging the small army of private detectives and g-men to be able to get wind of where Uncle James had been disappeared off to. Howard’s money meant no stone was left unturned, and more than once it’d been a bad dye job or hastily-applied makeup or DUM-E’s lockpicking skills or just _sheer dumb luck_ that kept Tony one step ahead of his father.

So yeah, in retrospect, some aspects of his mom’s network makes sense. What with it having come under heavy fire during that entire debacle, and having to piece it back together was no small task either. Tony may not get the particulars, but he could understand that much just fine.

Certainly, he wasn’t going to quibble about just how fast she was capable of getting international plane tickets— 

And then JARVIS entered the cloud, and things were never quite the same.

Tony knew his father had friends in very high places, it was part of why they ran.

The first time his mom called in a few favors, though, was…something. 

As was the discovery that for all that she’d taken a less physically-active role in the lifestyle they led, she was no less present than before, as evidenced by the laws that were now rolling out and Tony probably shouldn’t be proud of the fact that his mom was now officially a criminal mastermind but honestly he was more impressed by the number of politicians she’d blackmailed to even get it on the books because _holy crap._

[ _Even if he knew some of them were just out of petty spite, like the new zoning laws she’d somehow managed to get past solely because the homeowner’s association in that one town was comprised entirely of elitist jerks._ ]

Most of the time, Tony’s happy trying to live a quiet life, content in trying to be just another face on campus at Culver U while Uncle James gets back on his feet after another involuntary ice nap. But if his mom needs a hand, they’re both already out the door.

That’s when Iron Man comes out of retirement, why Renegade comes into being. 

She doesn’t normally; only in emergencies, only when push comes to shove and there’s something she needs **_stat_** that requires… _special handling._ Like when there’s people who need better hiding than what Witness Protection can offer [ _JARVIS did the heavy lifting, but Iron Man was needed for help relocating_ ]. Or when there’s an asshole stalker _creep_ who thinks that since the local police doesn’t have a cruiser parked outside, it’s a free pass to continue harassing [ _Uncle James didn’t regret breaking that guy's jaw, that time_ ]. 

SHIELD has yet to notice the connection. Yet to realize that when they heard them say “Mission Control”, Iron Man and Renegade meant some _one_ rather than some _where_. 

Maria originally started her network out of sheer self-preservation. Then things escalated and got out of hand, and…she was good. But living on the run took its toll, and maybe it was selfish but she just didn’t have the energy she used to, to be able to pack up and run at a moment’s notice. 

She’d been on red alert throughout Tony’s childhood. Had managed to eke out some semblance of peace for almost nine hard-fought years, only for it all to go up in smoke, and— 

she was tired. 

She was tired, and by now everyone was more focused on looking for her son than she herself and… her network was something she could control, and didn’t need to upend her life to do so. Tony was young, was more than happy to spend his life on the road searching for James, but Maria had spent nearly half her life now having to look over her shoulder and she refused to back down but _she couldn’t do this anymore,_ so…time for a different approach.

Maria’s network started out small. 

It didn’t stay that way.

Howard Stark didn’t realize just who he’d married. Oh, he did the necessary background checks, but he never really knew just what kind of person Maria Stark née Carbonell _**was.**_ Not until it was too late, anyway.

His loss. 

Always, and forever, his loss.

Originally, Maria picked _Juno_ more out of irony than anything else. 

Picked it because Tony’d been on a Greek and Roman mythology kick when he was a child, and while he’d been happily picking through different versions of the myths, it’d come up in passing. 

Juno, goddess of marriage and childbirth. The Roman equivalent of Hera, who was eternally loyal to Zeus even when he made mistake after mistake and innocent mortals paid for it.

[ _Maria had burned the closest thing they had to a modern empire for her son’s safety, without question and without regret._ ] 

“Call for Juno,” they’d say. “She can help.”


	9. Person Of Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, shifting POV, canon-typical violence, families of choice, etc._ ] plus bits and pieces of plot.

“For the record,” Tony’s voice filtered out from behind his faceplate as he led them out of the old wrecked compound[ _ ~~?~~_ ] James’ cryo chamber had apparently been stashed in, “I would like it to be known that I beat Howard at this thing too. He’s been looking since before I was born for his guy, and it took me less than six years to find you, _so there._ ”

James, however, didn’t miss the note of relief under the bravado. Or the way Tony stayed closer to him than strictly necessary, checking on him [ _ ~~as if he’d disappear on them again~~_ ].

“What happened?” He couldn’t help but ask, scrambling to catch up on what he’d missed [ _ ~~again~~_ ]. “I got less than fifty miles out before a HYDRA squadron came out of nowhere and put me in ice, beyond that I’ve got nothing.”

Tony wrenched the reinforced doors open with barely a break in his stride. “From what I’ve been able to gather after the fact— remember the agent types running around town? They clashed with the guys that got you and put them away, were starting to look into where you’d been stashed—oh, step back.”

A high-pitched whine was James’ only warning before a hole was blasted through the wall before them.

“Only thing is, they also found out that’s where I was living, too. Howard did what he does best and called in some favors.” Tony’s voice took on a bitter edge. “They went after me, and any leads on where you wound up went cold.”

“And how’re you? How’s your mom?”

“Good. She’s…good. We started traveling apart a while back because it’s easier to hide that way, but we keep in touch. Oh— hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?” A politely neutral English voice piped up, and James didn’t jolt only because he remembered the name Tony had given his AI but _what had he missed_ that the robot suit was something Tony was so comfortable moving around in?

“Call mom, let her know we found him.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tony’s palms were sweating as they continued making their way out, and he was at a loss as to what to say because _he’d finally found him, **alive,**_ but now what? 

How was he supposed to catch Uncle James up to speed?

…and then they heard a few distant thuds and clangs, and matters just got that much more pressing and geez, someone had it out for him.

“Oh, _come on._ ” Tony ground out. “Of all the times…”

Seriously. Literally _any other day,_ this wouldn’t have been an issue. 

“Tony, what’s going on?”

“Please call me Iron Man right now, last thing these guys need is any more leads. Oh— um. Here’s the thing. I…may or may not have hacked a few governments when looking at you. Just a few, though! Definitely less than twenty.”

He could almost _feel_ the frown aimed at him. He aimed another repulsor at the wall for an excuse to not look his way, and kept his shoulders from rising defensively. 

“...and more databases than I can count, from the DMV to morgues. And harassed HYDRA.”

“ _Tony._ ”

“Hey, don’t look at me _ **I**_ wasn’t the one who somehow got names and descriptions of prisoners of Guantanamo Bay…” He trailed off, then, in an undertone that Uncle James probably caught anyway, continued. “I’m still not sure how mom did it, to be honest.” 

“ _What?!_ ”

“Look, just because we’re not Howard-levels of ‘fuck you’ rich doesn’t mean we can’t raise hell, alright? So what if I pissed off a few people? It happens. You hack _one guy_ and next thing you know you’re telling him to fuck off because he wants you to work for him and you’ve got bigger fish to fry but he doesn’t take no for an answer unless it comes with a big enough boom.”

“Tony, what did you _do?_ ” Uncle James looked stunned as he stopped walking just to stare at him.

Which, y’know, _rude._

“I built this,” Tony tapped lightly on his chest plate with his fist, “because I’m still trying to lay low and this is about as stealthy as it gets. No one sees my face, and I can break into five bases in a night without breaking a sweat.”

The thuds were closer, now. Of course. Almost out, but things could never be that simple, could they?

Ugh.

“Put on a mask, this’s going to get a bit hairy. One of the people I pissed off is the agent types that we saw that day. They call themselves SHIELD, and they’ve been wanting to bring me in for a while now. Not sure why, never bothered to ask and not starting now.”

This was the opposite of breaking it to him gently, but there was nothing for it.

“Oh— and one last thing: hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

James didn’t know what was going on anymore, but he trusted Tony’s judgement. 

So when the arrows[ _??? what kind of Paleolithic bs was this what the hell what—_ ] started coming their way after Tony blasted that last door off its hinges, he didn’t hesitate to move to deflect them.

After the first second there was a brief pause as their attackers registered his presence, but by then Tony had thrown a smoke grenade and swept him up and muttered, “Grab on,” before—

Ah. So that’s what he meant by afraid of heights.

Alright then. 

Iron Man blasted off into the night sky with an unknown passenger, and all they had to show for it was another wrecked HYDRA base.

This deviation from his MO was very concerning. 

Agent Phil Coulson frowned at the report, and then back at what little footage they’d managed to capture of the encounter.

Iron Man had always been very singular, had been shown to possess a terrifyingly one-track mind and a drive that had some of their analysts convinced they were dealing with an android. 

He’d interfered with SHIELD operations before, it’s how he even came to Phil’s attention in the first place. 

But this time…

The building was still standing, even after he’d left. There’d been no firefight, no banter. Nothing set on fire, almost nothing turned to slag. The path of destruction was very clear-cut, unlike the general mayhem that usually followed.

Phil had suspected before, but this confirmed it: Iron Man had been looking for something. 

And by the looks of things? He’d found it. Or rather, _him._

A masked man with a metal arm.

SHIELD didn’t have much on Iron Man, didn’t know his motivations or what goals he had apart from a well-documented grudge against HYDRA. This latest discovery would hopefully shed some light on things. And who knows? 

Maybe there’d be more than one person who might be tapped for the Initiative, if they could play their cards right.


	10. Getting Caught Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, implied canon-typical violence and mental health issues, Moriarty-esque Maria, families of choice, etc_ ]. More bits and pieces of plot, too.

It was embarrassingly obvious, in retrospect: while Maria Carbonell [ _formerly Stark_ ] was undeniably a force of nature, she was also not necessarily a good influence on small children. 

Not a bad one, either, but…it was moments like these that highlighted just how surreal this whole mess felt, for James, as he struggled to wrap his head around the shit these two pulled in the time he'd gone into the ice.

It gave him something to focus on, instead of the way his heart hurt when he realized Tony was now half an inch shorter than him, or noticed the new lines around Maria's eyes. Gave him something to latch onto, instead of the resurgence of nightmares, of waking up terrified that he'd somehow slept through a decade instead of a handful of years and he'd missed out on _**so much—**_

So, really, this was a far better feeling to latch onto. Even if it came with its own tradeoffs.

“It should go without saying but I’ll say it anyway.” James found himself saying as he pinched the bridge of his nose at the realization, “No, Tony, _‘getting better blackmail’_ should _**not**_ be your go-to for everything.”

“Maria, just _when_ did you get the chance to get your hands on classified material?”

All he got as an enigmatic smile and a “I never reveal my sources.”

Really, these two did wonders for his blood pressure. 

“Okay, but just _what_ were you planning on doing if I’d been…there?” He asked, after the reminder that the kid he’d taught how to shave and throw a decent punch had apparently datamined world governments and now-defunct black ops and Area 51 sometime during his search for him.

[ _He wasn’t sure if he felt more flattered, embarrassed, or exasperated that all he got was_ “it seemed like a good idea at the time”. _These two, seriously_.]

The look Maria and Tony shared did absolutely _nothing_ for his budding headache. 

Neither did the way Tony shrugged, and tweaked something in his gauntlet as he muttered, “We would’ve figured something out.”

Oh boy.

Right, okay, that was it: James was not going to let himself go on ice _ever again._ The fate of the free world might very well depend on it.

“…okay, was anyone going to tell me that the Soviet Union collapsed, or was I supposed to just magically know that when I woke up? And where were _you two_ in all this?” 

Before, when Tony didn’t meet his gaze it usually meant guilt of the _‘ate the last cookie’_ or _‘forgot to get more milk after finishing it off’_ variety. 

Now, part of James wasn’t even surprised when he saw some of the old Red Room dossiers buried under old newspapers and what appeared to be blueprints for older versions of Tony’s armor. 

“Tony? Something you want to tell me?” He raised an eyebrow.

“…Siberia’s lovely this time of year? And I made a friend. Didn’t get you a souvenir though. Sorry.”

James pinched the bridge of his nose.

“SHIELD has been putting more people into looking for you.” Maria said evenly. “They’re getting kind of warm, too. I’m doing what I can to muddy the trail, but…”

Ah. 

James rubbed his shoulder and grimaced. Tony’d removed the red star years ago at his request, but…kind of hard to hide the Winter Soldier’s calling card otherwise.

“Anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “It’s going to come out eventually. What we want to control is the when and how— which is why Tony keeps bringing up the blackmail.” 

Tony didn’t look up from the tangle of wires he was working on. “Hey, we all know they’re going to try and disappear you or something, _again_. Least we can do is get enough leverage to keep that from happening. Elsewise they’re going to get a very pissy Iron Man, because other than that I’m out of ideas.” 

Ah, yes. The family classic, nothing like threats of wanton destruction being used as methods of affirmation. 

… _was_ there a genre for lines like that on greeting cards? ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, if you need help hiding a body you know who to call’, ‘Merry Christmas, also I would topple small governments in your name’? Oh bother he was getting off track. 

“ _How about_ I lay low and hope this blows over.” He cut in desperately before things could escalate because last thing they needed was Tony’s AI deciding that HAL 9000 was a good role model instead of a warning and _why_ had he missed these jerks, again?


	11. The Other Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, implied canon-typical violence and mental health issues, Moriarty-esque Maria, families of choice, etc_ ]. 
> 
> Also, this fic went from 'cute found family fluff' and somehow grew a plot. I'm as confused as you guys are.

Ivan Vanko was closing up when he spotted the stranger lurking in his dingy mechanic shop. 

Then again, _lurking_ might’ve been a bit of a strong word, considering the figure was a good few inches shorter than him, not to mention far skinnier than the bratva who occasionally came calling, and visibly unarmed to boot.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous, though: his father had made powerful enemies in life, and not all of them cared to put old grudges to rest after hearing of his death. 

“Ivan Vanko, I presume.” The shadowed figure said in remarkably unaccented Russian, and he stiffened. 

“Who’s asking?”

“The interests I’m representing have a business proposal for you.”

He’d learned about entrapment watching his father throw himself at each opportunity he was offered again and again, desperately seeking some sort of redemption only to get burned every damn time. 

“Not interested.” He replied with a scoff, and turned away.

The figure showed up the next day, and the day after that. Always when Ivan was alone in the shop, always carefully respectful in tone and body language. 

It unnerved Ivan more than the agents who’d towered over him, threatening to break his face for daring to show a speck of ambition.

“My employer would reward you handsomely—”

“Not interested.”

“How would you like to spite Howard Stark?” The figure finally asked, and Ivan paused for a moment.

This was a change from the routine, but more importantly…this was the offer that might very well be the one he couldn’t resist.

Promises of wealth and power? He could brush off. But a chance to get back at the man responsible for his father’s deportation to a country who’d proceeded to make his and his son’s lives a living hell? 

Even if it was a trap— and it could very well be, considering what else the stranger had offered— Ivan couldn’t help but fall for it.

“…I’m listening.”

“Have you ever heard of Juno?”

“The interests I represent have a company ready to go, it just needs a face. Officially, it’s going to be for communications and technology and everything’s set up to reach Fortune 500 in the next twenty years. Not to mention you’re a genius and while I like mechanic shops as much as the next guy, you’re _wasted_ here— _and_ I’m rambling, sorry.”

Ivan blinked at the figure who, though he was as shadowed as always, now had a distinctly sheepish air to him.

“That’s it? You think I’m a genius and ignore the number of watch lists I’ve been on since I was born?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that part. Juno’ll take care of it.” The figure waved the idea away, and _now_ Ivan started to feel out of his depth. 

“As for the rest? Well…that’s not the whole truth. Did you know you’re about the same age as Howard Stark’s kid? The one who’s MIA?”

Ah, yes. One of the most famous missing people in the world, second only to perhaps Captain America. 

Anton Vanko had pulled his son in for a tight hug when the news had first reached Siberia. It had been one of the rare moments he’d seen his father smile because for once, he had something Howard Stark didn’t.

“You’re attempting to use me to emotionally aggravate him.”

Under other circumstances, Ivan would have qualms. 

But for the man who had it all, who regularly crushed anyone he disliked…

“I’m in.”

The figure finally stepped into the light, and Ivan felt his breath catch as he reached out and to give him a firm handshake. 

“Pleasure doing business with you. I have the feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.” The missing Stark heir said with a sharp smile, and Ivan found himself smiling back.

“So, what am I in for?” Ivan asked as he hefted Irina’s birdcage, and Tony turned to face him as he finished putting his mobile phone away.

“How does CEO of Janus Enterprises sound?” 


	12. Of Regrets And Lukewarm Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan Vanko, after Siberia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, implied canon-typical violence and mental health issues, Moriarty-esque Maria, families of choice, etc_ ]. 
> 
> Set pre-Tony finding Bucky.

Ivan Vanko slammed the phone into its cradle, and rubbed at his temples to curtail his headache before it ballooned into something more than a minor nuisance because the _last_ thing they needed was a distraction.

He’d never thought he would live to see the day that he’d miss Siberia, but damn if it didn’t get close sometimes. 

Funny thing is, he’d walked into this with his eyes open. 

From the get-go, he’d known this was a terrible idea— known this could only possibly end in chaos and disaster— but he’d agreed anyway.

He’d expected the blackmail and illicit favors. He’d been ready for the shameless bribery, and the shadowy network that had somehow managed to get him a plane ticket despite being on half a dozen no-fly lists. Had been ready and willing to deal with the worst of the worst, when it came to taking on the likes of Howard Stark.

What he hadn’t expected was…everything else.

“Thanks for having me over.” The son of the man who had ruined his life slid into the chair across from his, not remarking on the dingy walls of his apartment, or the chipped mug in his hands, or the ominous groan of the pipes as the evening went on. “Now, let’s get down to business because I’ll be honest, this is going to be a _doozy._ ”

“I assumed this was why you targeted me.”

“It sounds so sinister when you say it like that, Ivan– can I call you Ivan? I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“Sure.” Considering everything, it was only prudent. What with their shared goal, and all. 

“Okay, great. Here’s the master plan: we’re giving you the life _his heir_ would have had," Ivan couldn't help but blink at the venom in his voice, despite everything, "and rubbing it in his face at every opportunity. How’s it sound?”

Ivan leaned back for a moment, and looked at his associate consideringly. At the sharp cut of his smile, and the gleam in his eyes. Then, he finally smiled back.

“Tell me more.”

“We’re giving you the ultimate origin story, man, you’re going to love it.”

“Has anyone told you you have a flair for the dramatic?”

Tony made a mock-offended gasp. “Okay, _rude,_ I was just about to—”

Ivan rolled his eyes, and sipped at his now-lukewarm tea.

“How bad would it look for Howard Stark if some rando were to walk up to an embassy and prove he’d stolen and discredited the hard work of a Soviet defector?”

Ivan was no slouch when it came to engineering: his father had taught him well when sober, and he'd had no few ideas even when three sheets to the wind. 

As such, it was not hard for him to learn the schematics of the miniaturized arc reactor, even if most of them were hastily sketched out on old napkins and scratch paper with less-than-helpful annotations. It wasn’t easy either— more than once, he’d found himself shooting dubious glances at his ally, simply because _how many laws of thermodynamics had he broken?_ — but it wasn’t the staggering impossibility it had first seemed to be. 

And if he also sometimes found himself laughing at the irony of the fact that he was being given the credit for something that would have revolutionized academia on a silver platter, and who it was that was giving it to him? Well, Tony had been off "seeing the sights”— whatever that was code for, all Ivan knew he was looking for something even if he'd never specified _what_ — and the ashes of their notes would never tell. Nor would the rudimentary prototype slowly taking shape on his bench, or the slightly-more-polished version that he was comparing it to.

Even if he had Questions as to the circumstances surrounding its creation— really, Tony could only mention hostage situations and “if you see this one blond creep who doesn’t seem to shut up about rings, _run_ ” so many times before he got curious— but by the end of it, he had a shining circle that could very nearly fit in the palm of his hand, made entirely out of scavenged parts and theoretically capable of powering his shitty apartment for a year. 

Had a _**miniaturized arc reactor,**_ something that used the very technology that had damned his father, and knew it inside and out, knew the theory by heart, and— 

Ivan laughed. 

He did not question what kinds of strings had been pulled for him to be able to have an appointment at the nearest embassy. Part of Ivan was burning with curiosity, and his well-honed sense of self-preservation _screamed_ at him to not even consider it. Tony was...unusually friendly, whenever he wasn't "on the clock", but this 'Juno' he represented was _**absolutely**_ the type of criminal mastermind capable of taking on a titan and he did not want to cross them. 

Especially since he had more than enough on his hands as it was, just proving to the embassy staff what he was capable of: facing off against scientist after scientist that got called in to poke at his miniaturized arc reactor, trying to find some way to discredit him. Trying to poke holes in his math, trying to figure out how he'd achieved the impossible in some garage in the shadows of what was left of the Soviet Union when their best and brightest hadn't been able to achieve the same with the countless resources at his disposal.

They failed, of course. 

Nothing was more satisfying than seeing Howard Stark's face when the news broke. 

Or his reaction at the announcement of his role in Janus Enterprises, which had skyrocketed in the wake of the announcement.

“How involved do you want to be?” Tony asked, quietly thoughtful as he looked out the penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows at the city lights.

“Pardon?"

“If you want, you can…just live the cushy life from here on out, take credit for whatever we send your way. It’d be easy: go to galas or whatever fancy shindig you want, flip off Howard whenever you run into each other, the works. If you want, this can be it.” 

Ivan frowned. “There’s a ‘but’ in there, isn’t there.”

“You’re going to be our face, Ivan—”

“Call me Vanya.” Ivan cut in, and tried not to flush at the way Tony startled for a moment because damn it that meant he _knew_ about diminutives and sure maybe it was a bit personal but he was helping him but he didn’t want to make this a big deal and—

“Vanya, then.” Tony continued, with a slight smile that broadened as he went on. “Janus Enterprises is going to provide all the cover Juno needs to operate. Just being its face is already more than enough from you, but…if you want, you can be more active.”

“Oh?”

“For… _special circumstances._ Emergencies, heavy lifting, whatever. I mention this because there’s already one on the roster.” Tony’s smile shifted to a smirk, and Ivan had a feeling he knew where this was going even before Tony rapped his knuckles against the briefcase he’d taken to carrying around.

_“Why are you so dramatic._ ” 

_**“Hey!”**_

Ivan Vanko was a sensible person. He knew his limits, knew what he wanted in life and didn’t tend to regret or second-guess his decisions.

Right now, however, he was seriously questioning his life choices.

He would not deny Tony was a friend, _certainly_ much less stressful to deal with than Juno herself, but.

He was also such a **_brat_**.

[ _Ivan very carefully didn’t think about how sometimes he thought брат instead of brat, because he could only deal with one headache at a time **thank you very much**_ ]

…anyway. 

“How is it that you get yourself into these scrapes?” Ivan snapped into the receiver even as he stared at the magazine's headline and the grainy photographs splashed beneath. Their only saving grace was that it was one of the trashy periodicals, rather than anything respectable: but that was cold comfort for his blood pressure.

“It’s not like I go looking for them!”

“I _just_ had to deal with another audit, we do _not_ need the attention—”

“How big a distraction do you want?”

Ivan put the phone down on his desk, leaned back, and slowly counted to ten. First in Russian, then in English. Then, backwards, because he still had the strong urge to strangle something and the person responsible was currently several hundred miles away.

Ugh. 

_Why_ had he agreed to this, again?

Less than six days later, he was reminded.

Specifically, Howard’s face when the announcement of Janus Enterprises’ support for refugees and survivors of domestic violence went out, courtesy of its brand-new September Foundation. 

Another day, another disaster and moments like these, Ivan was incredibly grateful he wasn’t the one running point because he did not envy the cleanup.

Then he saw the damage reports and news coverage, and. Well.

“Iron Man? Really?”

“Honestly, I think it has a nice ring to it.”

Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose and bit back a groan, even as he put his kettle to boil and mentally started drafting the press release necessary to keep their covers straight. Disgruntled former employee that stole some research sounded plausible, add in some internal sabotage to their records and it'd help eliminate the idea of foul play...

One of the more intriguing aspects of this whole mission was that for all that it was primarily a cover, Janus Enterprises was still very much a company.

Actually— if he hadn’t known any better, Ivan would have thought it was entirely legitimate. 

All the paperwork was in place, all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed, there were honest-to-goodness _company newsletters_ and the only thing that might have hinted at a potentially unscrupulous dealings was how terrifyingly efficient everything was.

Ivan had his suspicions as to who was behind this, but he didn’t ask because unlike _some idiots,_ he had a sense of self-preservation.

This was a terrible idea.

A no-good, very bad, scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel idea that he sorely regretted even considering, and _yet._

Ivan glowered at his shiny new mobile phone, desperately trying to put off the inevitable because he had common sense and—

The latest crash came through loud and clear on the receiver.

“Brat, I thought you said you had this handled?”

“Looks like our intel’s off, backup incoming and—” another explosion went off, followed by the crack of a gunshot and mostly indistinct swearing before _it_ happened.

“—I’m grounded. Too much firepower, I’m not sure I—”

Iron Man was their heaviest hitter.

Tony was his idiot of a best friend, who regularly bit off more than he could chew and then acted like everything was under control even if he was on fire and if Ivan lost him because of his stubbornness and some _asshole Neo-Nazis—_

_**Damn it.** _

Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose, and made his way to the back of his workshop. 

The area where he kept his ‘thought exercise’ prototypes, the ones that typically didn’t see the light of day because he was usually either drunk or half-asleep when he made them and he was _**so**_ going to regret this.

“Hold your position, Iron Man. Backup en route.”

Drunk-him had some very questionable tastes. In this case, however, Ivan couldn’t help but admit that the whips looked cool. 

A bitch and a half to actually use, sure, but everyone in the base ran away screaming when they caught sight of him, so. Whatever.

Also? He’d admit that even if this was more the brat’s thing than his, he was starting to see the appeal.

Twelve hours and several dozen miles later, he regretted everything as Tony cheerfully handed over his copy of the New York Times.

“So…Whiplash, huh?”

“Shut up and drink your tea.” Ivan said sourly, glaring into his mug to avoid the self-satisfied smile he knew was being aimed his way, and tried not to think about the improvements he was tempted to make to his suit because damn it, being a vigilante was the brat's thing, **_not_** his!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: брат means brother in Russian. 
> 
> For the record: I've been trying to keep these snapshots in mostly chronological order, but that's not how they were written as. Apologies for any confusion.


	13. One Step Forward...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony takes a vacation for the first time in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, implied canon-typical violence and mental health issues, Moriarty-esque Maria, families of choice, etc_ ].
> 
> Also, introducing a few more characters, and somewhere along the way it got a tad bit shippy? As in, Tony may or may not have gotten a brain-crush??? idek, you decide if it's friendship or not

Months of research, of skulking around and forging paperwork and intercepting communications— and it was finally paying off. 

Tony looked around the enormous lecture hall with wide eyes, practically vibrating in his seat. He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t care: his shiny new student ID was burning a hole in his pocket, his backpack was a near-clone of his neighbor’s, and in the next few minutes he’d start on the next chapter of his life. 

This was the first time he’d set foot in an institute of higher learning, for the express purpose of learning. Sure, he still had to lay low, since Tony Stark was still #1 on America’s Most Wanted Missing Persons [ _even if his twenty-second birthday came and went **months** ago, take a hint already Howard_], but…for the first time in his life, he could let loose without having anything hanging over his head.

Could _finally_ poke at some of the things he’d been itching to try with like-minded individuals, could research and leaf through theses and journals without having to sneak around anyone who might be curious as to what a ten-year-old was doing with a textbook on fluid mechanics.

Child prodigies were easy to pick out; enterprising college students, though?

When everyone was broke and scrambling to stand out, especially in a university big enough for some of its courses to have upwards of 300 students, while _also_ having some cool-sounding research going on? 

Nobody’d look too closely at some freshman asking too many questions. 

That’s what he was counting on, anyway. 

The professor strode up to the podium, and Tony straightened up in preparation for his first day of college.

Mistakes were made.

Many, many mistakes were made.

James walked into the tiny kitchen, saw the mountain of books competing for space with the mess of wire that nearly hid Tony's makeshift pillow of what appeared to be scattered notes, and sighed as he moved to wake him up.

"Kid, you _know_ better than this. Get to bed if you're going to crash."

"'m not a kid." Tony mumbled. "But fine, _fine_ , I'm going. Oh— here."

He shoved another sheaf of notes at James, who hastily put his mug down to keep it from joining the mess on the counter. "Another one? And here I thought you were the one who had homework."

"You're the one who wants to catch up on the news, I'm just trying to help." Tony said as he set about cleaning up his projects. "Eastern Europe's been busy. So's mom. Oh— by the way, burn that once you're done?"

James shook his head with a laugh. "Do I want to know?"

"...I wouldn't recommend you drink anything when you reach the Balkans, even if that one wasn't us. You'll probably get a kick of what mom did to that one homeowner association, though, so there's that."

"Wait— Tony, when did you even make this?" He asked, as he started flipping through and feeling mildly alarmed by the compact scrawl. "I thought you were studying computer science and philosophy?"

"Guest lecturer on the Cold War last Wednesday. I was there for some of it, it was fun seeing it from an outside perspective."

James pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Geez. No wonder he was dead to the world, if he pushed himself that much.

"Take care of yourself, kid, I thought I taught you better—" 

"It's fun!" Tony bristled, hunching over his notes protectively. "It's the first time I can let loose like this, give me a break. I can handle it, I've _been_ handling it, it's fine."

James gave the bags under his eyes a dubious look, and Tony scowled.

"Midterms coming up. If I want to secure lab space, I have to impress the chair of the department. But don't worry, I've got this."

Culver University had several of the typical crypids for a college campus: that one bookstore five minutes away with just about every book under the sun, that hole-in-the-wall restaurant that somehow managed to avoid getting written up for health code violations, that one professor who was always listed on the roster but hadn’t been seen since the first day of class.

However, not three months into the new academic year, a new cryptid was being added to the roster: Caffeine Rush Undergrad. 

Tony walked out of the latest round of exams with a bounce in his step, already thinking about whether or not he’d be able to make it to the guest lecture in time to find a seat…only to pick up the dark atmosphere around him, courtesy of his classmates. 

“Ugh, that was brutal and I think there was a typo somewhere in there because how—”

“—had like one slide covering it during lecture, _why_ was it—”

“—an I’m going to fail, this stupid class is going to tank my GPA, _fu—_ ”

Some were almost in tears, some were fuming. More than a few were bleary-eyed, clearly having pulled an all-nighter cramming for the test that made up a good chunk of their grade.

Tony tried not to feel too guilty about wrecking the grading curve because he had no doubt he’d aced it, and had done the extra-credit question too just because it’d seemed like a fun thought exercise.

Then he checked his watch, bit back a curse as he clutched at his messenger bag, and started to jog towards the building he’d seen on the flyer about public health talks.

Caffeine Rush Undergrad had a name, presumably.

However, when looking at short freshmen and transfer students and seeing the only one in the room who looked actually _excited_ about the upcoming exams, well…it was hard to remember to ask.

If Tony hadn’t known just what the hell he was doing, he would not have gotten as far as he had. As it was, his obvious interest and experience in computer programming had been a plus, so even if he’d had to bullshit his way out of declaring a major without raising eyebrows— it was worth it. 

He now had a bench dedicated to his work on cloud computing, and even if Culver didn’t know his end goal was getting JARVIS even more mobility than before on top of seeing what else he could do with what resources he now had at hand, well…this place was a goddamn candy store, alright?

Also, as a bonus he was now a familiar face to several departments he hadn’t quite gotten around to checking out, including a free pass to continue arguing with that one philosophy professor whenever office hours were slow and his code was compiling.

Caffeine Rush Undergrad was like a goddamn puppy, all wide eyes and running around all the damn time, leaving behind towering stacks of books whenever he went to the library and sneaking into lecture halls for classes he _wasn’t even in_ just to ask the speaker questions later.

It was impressive. And exhausting, and intimidating, especially when word got out that Caffeine Rush somehow had managed to secure a research position in one of the most competitive programs on campus.

Tony met Bruce Banner and Betty Ross after he found some of their publications, and his glee at discovering that they were working on something only a few wings away from his own bench was…something. 

Not explosive, because he knew better than to attract the wrong sort of attention, but something. 

Sure, they’d eyed him suspiciously at first, but after seeing he knew what he was doing and that he had no interest in stealing their research, they got along swimmingly!

Well, at least they didn’t treat him like a little kid the way Foster and Selvig did, anyway.

More like a second set of eyes, and even if Tony didn’t _entirely_ get the finer points he was able to follow along well enough. Kind of like the way Bruce was a great rubber duck whenever he shared what he was doing with JARVIS, even if he sometimes seemed more than a little amused by the comparison. Or, wait, no: a better analogy could be the way Betty thought DUM-E was cute whenever Tony let him out of his backpack.

("He's death from the ankles below!"

"He's _adorable._ ")

…and then Caffeine Rush Undergrad disappeared after the Green Incident, which, of course, meant he became legendary around campus.

Tony had two coffees in hand, one for Betty and one for Bruce, and nearly dropped both the moment he glimpsed General Ross in the hall, headed towards—

Oh.

Oh, dear.

He turned on a heel and ducked into the nearest office he could find, before Howard’s old golf buddy could spot him and risk putting two and two together.

“You didn’t tell me your old man was Thunderbolt Ross.” Tony said as he passed over a cup of now-lukewarm coffee. His voice wasn’t accusing; he was better than that. But his hands were this close to shaking, and there was a tension he couldn’t shake because he’d foolishly, naively assumed he was safe here, _why_ had he—

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, eyes sharp and _damn it_ he was slipping if some civilians could see his nerves. 

“Nothing.” Tony plastered on a smile, and shoved his cup in his direction as he mentally readied himself as to what he’d need to do now because if his mom hadn’t picked up chatter then they were okay, but…

Oh, right. 

Geez, seeing Ross had really shaken him up. But his family was safe, and he had a plan and a story and he could bullshit with the best of them, he just had to _get a grip._

Deep breath, steady hands. DUM-E was pressing against his leg in his messenger bag, while Butterfingers was a comforting weight in his jacket pocket. He could handle this. 

“Nothing,” he repeated to their disbelieving looks, “it’s just that my mom was a… Vietnam protestor. She broke a lot of shit, and… may or may not have several warrants with her name still out there.”

He hated lying to his friends, but his family was on the line. Uncle James was still getting back on his feet, and his mom didn’t need any more stress than what she already had going on. 

Also? It wasn’t actually a lie. Technically, his mom was a kidnapper. Jury was still out on the treason charges, though, because enough people counted her as a whistleblower that Howard hadn’t quite been able to get those to stick. Even if the press loved to claim otherwise.

Bruce relaxed, but frowned in concern. “You recognized Betty’s father from that?”

Tony didn’t hide how awkward he was feeling now, after the fact. Especially because it was the truth, in a way— if only even weirder.

“There’s a strong resemblance going on, _and_ he…mayormaynothavebeenlookingforherpersonally.”

Misleading as hell? Yes. Did he regret it? Nope.

Betty shared a look with Bruce, then looked at the doorway and blanched before surging forward and shoving him behind her desk.

Fortunately, Tony knew enough to roll with it and so ducked and curled himself the best he could just as the footsteps got louder and General Ross’ voice came from the doorway.

“Oh, almost forgot— Banner? What are you doing here?” 

Bruce’s shoes had a very distinctive squeak whenever he shifted his weight nervously. Tony’d noticed it before, but never quite like now.

“Hello, General Ross—” He started, before Betty cut in.

“Dad? I wanted to tell you this in person. I have a boyfriend.” She must have gestured or made a face, for the choked noise coming from Bruce’s side of the room and _how_ did he get himself in these situations, seriously?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU was supposed to be nothing but fluff. Where the plot came from, I don't even know.


	14. ...Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Green Incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, implied canon-typical violence and mental health issues, slightly-dubious ethics, Moriarty-esque Maria, families of choice, etc_ ]. Some brief but ultimately well-intentioned invasion of privacy. 
> 
> Still unsure if it's platonic or not, but here, have Tony trying to be a good wingman anyway.

Tony was torn between awe and mortification as he carefully shifted his weight and slowly made his way outside. 

Just. Wow.

Not five minutes, and Betty Ross had managed to successfully derail the conversation from whatever her father had in mind— though the part of his brain that wasn’t desperately churning out escape routes was _very interested_ in whatever this ‘Project Rebirth’ was, for it to involve bioengineering as well as Bruce’s specialty in physics but _**not now**_ — and swept everyone else out of her tiny office, without so much as a hint that she was hiding anything. Such as, say, the only son and heir of Howard Stark, not that anyone else in the room knew that particular little factoid.

…and now Thunderbolt Ross was operating under the assumption that Betty Ross and Bruce Banner were officially dating, instead of performing the single most awkward ‘dancing around the other’ routine the entire campus had seen in the past five years if rumors were anything to go by.

Yeah, whoops. 

Okay, new mission: apart from learning All The Things and getting Uncle James up to speed, Tony now had to evade Thunderbolt Ross while _also_ running support for the surprise fake dating thing, while **_still_** making it look as if everything was business as normal. 

Okay, cool, cool. 

He could do this, he had everything under control, no need to worry mom about it, everything was _fine._

Pro: …so apparently he had a reputation on campus for eccentricity. Enough so that his running around even more somehow was waved off as normal. Tony would’ve been offended if it weren’t so useful. Also, turns out that living on the run and breaking into countless buildings, both before and after he built his suit, meant he actually had a good head for stealth and thus made evading Thaddeus Ross a snap.

Con: Tony had signed up to be a college student. Sure, he was a pretty good fixer— kind of hard not to, considering his family tree and living the life he had, but...

_Please note that nowhere on that list was relationship counselor._

“It just slipped out!” Betty griped as she leaned against the closed door of her office, chugging the coffee he’d brought her. “I’d been wanting to— and then you were _here_ and dad was _there_ and I just panicked—”

“She doesn’t see me that way,” Bruce sighed as he sipped at his mug and looked out the window morosely. “You heard her. She just did it to distract her father—”

“—as if I’d throw him under the bus, but he’s never looked at me that way and I’d hate to ruin everything—”

“—feel so stupid, I should’ve noticed—”

_“—I regret everything.”_

_"—I regret everything."_

“You got that, Butterfingers?” Tony asked quietly, and the quiet vibration in his pocket was enough of an answer that he no longer felt like screaming at these two… they were both brilliant, and he was shamelessly a huge fan of both their work, but dearly beloved _fuck_ were his friends both ** _idiots_** when it came to each other and _he’d had enough._

Also, thanks to Butterfingers and JARVIS, enough audio and security camera footage to prove his point.

Sure, maybe creating a multi-slide PowerPoint presentation on how ridiculously gone for each other and having it play on loop while locking them both in the same room was overkill, but honestly? 

He didn’t even care anymore. He’d seen operational write-ups of psychological warfare less effective than what these two had going on.

Betty punched his shoulder and Bruce glowered the next time he saw him. 

_…but_ they were still talking to him, and holding hands the time after that, so Tony counted it a win.

Everything was fine, right up until it wasn’t. 

* * *

It was business as usual. 

In retrospect, that should’ve been Tony’s first warning that something was wrong. 

Look, in his defense, he was very close to the breakthrough in his own research, okay? _So close_ to getting JARVIS into the cloud, while unintentionally scaring the crap out of everyone with his decoy project because of how advanced his AI was and…okay, point is it wasn’t his fault!

Wasn’t anyone’s fault, actually. **_Least_** of all Bruce’s, and he’d fight anyone who said otherwise.

The Green Incident was the result of a freak lab accident.

No more, no less. Just some poor bastard trying to get more data for their research on a Friday night, throw in a defective seal and you get hundreds of thousands dollars’ worth of property damage and hospitalization bills. 

Really, it’s a wonder nobody died. _Especially_ considering the radiation levels found at ground zero afterwards.

Tony didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry at his luck.

If it weren’t for JARVIS, weren’t for his now-totaled experimental suit— he would’ve been trapped in the wreckage of whatever the fuck it was that’d happened when he’d been working on his research.

Speaking of which…

He’d been so, so close. So close to getting his project done, it was literally just a matter of waiting for his code to compile but now they’d have to go to ground because Betty’s old man was _very interested_ in whatever it’d been that had been able to flatten the eastern wing of the research facilities and leave no trace other than grainy footage and unhelpful witness reports of something very big and very green. 

There’d been a steady increase of jackbooted types around campus since Thaddeus Ross first showed up several weeks ago, but now they were _really_ showing up en masse and Tony still had no idea what the hell was going on.

…and then JARVIS finally managed to access their communications channels, and everything went downhill from there because apparently Bruce was getting shipped off to some weird black-ops site as a lab rat and Tony started seeing red at that point because _**nope.**_

[ ~~ _Not again, **never** again was he losing anyone—_~~]

Time for the big guns. 

“Hey, mom? I need help.”

“Uncle? I've got another Budapest with a side of Siberia on my hands, my suit's down, and I need a distraction. A big one.” Tony rambled into the phone as he hastily shoved his gear he could into his bag.

He didn't need to see his uncle's face to know he was speed-running through the stages of grief: his tone said everything as he replied, “Wait— shit, that was the— kid, how do you even _get_ into these— you know what? Fuck it, fine. Are you going to need Renegade, or…”

“It’s Howard’s generation, I think we're going to need something with a bit more oomph— **_oh._** " Tony stopped short as the realization came to him. The answer to one of his biggest problems, beautiful in its simplicity but...

"Tony?" His uncle's concerned voice cut through his thoughts.

"Tony Stark is going to be spotted near north campus, I’m going to need something to get me out afterwards.” 

“Jesus, kid, you’re really going all in for this, aren’t you?” His uncle’s sigh came through loud and clear over the receiver. “Fine. It’s been a while since my bike saw any action, anyway.”

“Your dad has your boyfriend locked up, can you help me get him out?” was not a sentence Tony had ever imagined himself ever saying with a straight face, but here he was at 2 in the goddamn morning, crouched by Betty’s window three stories up and keeping a wary eye out for patrols. 

“Let me get my jacket.” 

Pro: breaking into countless HYDRA bases meant Tony had plenty of experience in stealth and infiltration, regardless of how secure the area was.

Con: he was the _distraction_ instead of the one actually doing any infiltration, and Betty was nowhere near his level. Fortunately, DUM-E and Butterfingers and JARVIS were on the ball to make sure everything on her end went smoothly, while Tony ran around dodging patrols because he was the spitting image of his father and for the first time in his life, that was a plus. Turns out that Betty's old man was still golf buddies with Howard Stark, and just glimpsing his mini-me had been enough to call in all available units.

It was hands-down one of the stupidest ideas Tony’d ever had, he was willing to admit: it was now only a matter of time before the area was crawling with SHIELD and private detectives and everyone else they'd been evading. Not to mention the number of close calls he'd already had, because Ross' men were the best the Army had to offer on short notice and kitted out with all the fun toys that came with being buddies with the best in the defense industry. 

All he had going for him was the fact that he knew this campus like the back of his hand: thus far, he'd managed to get three squadrons lost in maze that was the medical sciences building, and another two in the architectural nightmare that was the humanities wing of the main library. 

It wasn't much of an advantage, not against firepower like this: it was just a game of keep-away, and they all knew it. Tony could already hear dogs barking, and that meant time was running out for him.

But hey.

At least his distraction worked: by the time the hour was up, Betty and his bots left a long, long line of people with bruised and broken ankles swearing profusely, screeching fire alarms, and countless uncooperative elevators and electric locks in their wake as they dragged their target to safety. 

On Tony's side of things, Uncle James was having _way_ too much fun with his rescue. That last flip had been _completely_ unnecessary, and it was only a childhood of riding along that kept Tony's heart from lurching with every sharp turn and wheelie made while going over fifty miles per hour in a sleepy college town. Not to mention his getup, which Tony had only ever seen in case files taken before he was born.

"I know for a _fact_ I removed that red star. You were the one to ask, even."

"Did you know duct tape comes in red?" His uncle sounded far too cheerful as he replied, even as JARVIS reported the panic going on over the military comms as the Winter Soldier was sighted for the first time in decades.

They met up in Betty’s miraculously-untouched office, afterwards.

Bruce was still mostly out of it, only starting to recover from whatever the asshole Ross had drugged him with, but he was already lucid enough to look at Tony and Uncle James warily as Tony calmly ran through the next stage of The Plan.

“—the fake IDs will be ready in approximately five hours, and there’s a shipment going to South Africa in about a week and a safehouse in New York until then. Sorry for the mess, this was kind of last minute—” then Tony realized they were both staring blankly at him and whoops, so much for his cover.

“—so, yeah, that’s something.” He lamely finished, and shifted awkwardly.

“How did you…” Bruce slurred, but Tony knew what he was really asking.

“Have you ever heard of Juno?”

"Is anything we know about you not a lie?” Betty asked as they slowly made their way down the hall, and Tony cringed because her tone was soft but it still _hurt._

Part of him wished his uncle didn't have to prep their stuff to go to ground, having him around would make this conversation _so_ much easier. Then again...

“Everything you know about me, everything that’s not on paper. First name’s the same, though. Mom’s not actually a Vietnam protestor— Howard’s got an alcohol problem and friends in high places, that’s why we left the way we did, I never actually graduated high school, and—”

“Howard.” Betty cut in, and Tony felt his stomach drop as he saw the spark in her eyes as she looked at his undisguised face and put two and two together. “Not as in Howard _Stark?"_

"...surprise?”

Tony nearly dropped Bruce when he saw the light coming from beneath the rubble of what had been his own lab bench.

His code had somehow finished compiling, amidst the chaos.

Oh, this was _perfect._

“Betty, can you hold him for a second? I need to do something. It’s important.”

“I want one.” Betty immediately said as all the lights in a ten-block radius went out, and Tony gave a delighted grin in the darkness as JARVIS did what he did best. 

“Oh, that can be arranged.”

Bruce scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned.

"Whiplash, have you received the package?”

“Yes. ETA to drop point, fifteen minutes. You owe me one, brat.”

"Yeah, yeah. I'll get to you once I'm done with clean-up over here."

Bruce was safely out, Betty was in the clear and now had a shiny new cell phone with a single number programmed into it.

…and then Howard Stark himself showed up on campus, because Tony couldn’t get a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, this entire chapter: you know what, I'm not even mad. How. Just _how,_ I look away for two minutes—  
> Bucky: You know what? Might as well have some fun with this, let someone else be the voice of reason for once.  
> Ivan: *is not a happy camper*  
> Ivan: gdi Barnes the _last_ thing the brat needs is an enabler, I was _counting on you for damage control!_
> 
> offscreen, Tony probably made friends with the Hulk during the initial chaos but I couldn't figure out a good way to fit that in with everything else.


	15. A Dangerous Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony has a near-miss and an uncomfortable look in a mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator because nobody's omniscient, implied canon-typical violence and mental health issues, slightly-dubious ethics, Moriarty-esque Maria, families of choice, etc_ ]. Implied past abuse.
> 
> Also: guest appearance by Howard Stark.

When the time came, Tony couldn’t help but stare. 

He’d seen that face everywhere— on the tabloids, on tv screens, in the news. In the mirror, before he busted out the foundation and contour necessary to keep up the ruse.

Howard Stark stood not two meters from his son, and _he didn’t even notice._

They’d had close calls before, is the thing: even before the… _ **incident**_ that’d ended up with Uncle James MIA, there’d been near-misses, multiple almost-heart attacks. 

Early on, especially— back when it’d just been him and his mom, back when they hadn’t had much time to ditch their old stuff and were still getting used to going to ground, they’d had their acting skills tested with each and every police car and concerned adult in sight. One wrong move, a single waver in tone, and…well. 

[ _That one time in Cincinnati had been **terrifying,** simple as that_.]

Tony was older, now; his acting had gotten a lot better. Still nowhere near his mom’s “give me five minutes and I can get your phone, keys, and wallet” routine, but decent enough in a pinch. Decent enough to get him into HYDRA bases, and hopefully good enough for him to slip through the ever-tightening net around campus because Thaddeus Ross had originally been loaded for bear because of the Green Incident, but the guest appearances of both Tony Stark and the Winter Soldier meant the entire region was now locked down tighter than Fort Knox. In the middle of dead week, and a campus teeming with half-feral grad and doc students foaming at the mouth to salvage their research and giving no fucks about minutiae like radiation levels or structural integrity. From what JARVIS had been able to pick up from chatter, Jane Foster was quickly becoming a familiar entity with the security forces for being particularly stubborn about it, and the more time passed the bigger the crowd was getting.

Fun times.

 _Especially_ when he found himself stuck in the same room as the man who’d spent countless resources searching for him, because JARVIS had said the hallway would be clear in five minutes when the guards finished their sweep but had forgotten to account for the downed cameras in the eastern wing of the library and next thing he knew, he found himself in a situation straight out of his worst nightmares.

Howard Stark was on the phone, barking orders and sneering at whoever had the misfortune of meeting his gaze. He was pushing around 80 now, but not a trace of that showed in his voice, or the sharpness in his eyes.

From his place behind the library’s bookshelves in the corner, Tony couldn’t help but stare. 

He knew he shouldn’t— as it was, his window of time to escape between sweeps was shrinking— but. 

He couldn’t help it.

This man was one of the cofounders of SHIELD, owner of the biggest weapons company in the country and fully capable of making people _disappear_ with a single phone call. 

The man who had terrorized his childhood even years after they'd fled, because this asshole was a clingy bastard who _refused_ to let go�—

For the first time in nearly two decades, Tony found himself standing in the same room as his father, completely by accident.

Howard was shorter than he remembered. It felt inane, but that was Tony’s first thought. 

Just— part of Tony couldn’t help the inevitable thrill of adrenaline and the fear of recognition, but…at the same time? 

Staring down that familiar scowl, being on the receiving end of one of his ubiquitous sneers— yeah, Tony was a bit nervous, having his cover blown now would _really_ suck.

But. 

Maybe it was the time and distance, maybe it was his experiences— but Tony suddenly felt torn about how he felt about his father. 

Part of him still hated the bastard, _hated_ how his nightmares growing up had featured jack-booted thugs kicking down the door and dragging his mom [ _and, later, his uncle_ ] out to places unknown. Hated how it’d taken years of self-defense training, on top of living in hiding, to _finally_ feel safe enough to lower his guard— and only ever at home, in the presence of his family. Hated how he’d had to repress everything that could have possibly made him stand out because they couldn’t afford to make waves, not when there was a small army of private detectives and law enforcement on the trail. 

And yet...

Thanks to his search for Uncle James, Tony couldn’t help but gain a new understanding for the provider of his Y chromosome. 

In the early days, Tony could almost relate to Howard’s relentless search for Captain America: if Steve Rogers was to him what Uncle James was to Tony, then he had an entirely new sympathy for the guy. Not to mention the way it brought his own disappearance to mind, and for the first time in his life Tony couldn’t help but think that Howard might’ve had a rough time of it, when he and his mom ran. That maybe he _hadn’t_ been entirely lying and trying to rewrite the narrative, when he’d mentioned just wanting his family back. 

[ _Almost. He had yet to understand the way Howard found it so easy to hit innocents, though. He hoped he never would._ ]

Back when Juno was just starting out, Tony could understand why Howard’s network had been so vast, why he’d had so many friends in Capitol Hill and across the pond— and then, when things escalated and shit hit the fan, Tony could _really_ sympathize with the need for a very big stick.

Iron Man was his first [ _ ~~and **only**~~_ ] dedicated weapon. Probably small fries, coming from the son of the man who’d once been part of the Manhattan Project, but who cared? It got the job done, and that’s all he needed it for. 

…point was, Tony was now more sympathetic to Howard’s situation, even if he didn’t appreciate the feeling at times. 

Such as right now.

Maybe, in another life, Tony could look at his father and not feel torn. Could look at his father and not feel the desire to punch the bastard clash with his need to remain incognito, could look at his father and feel something that wasn’t a strange sort of austere indifference beyond 'wow, is that how I'm going to look when I hit that age? Weird.'

But right now?

All Tony could do was look at the man who’d once towered over him, roaring, glass of brandy in hand, and think, “My family is scarier than you’ll ever be.”

Think, “You may act tough, but you have no power over me.”

“Excuse me? This is a private conversation.” Howard Stark snapped at a particularly impetuous brat who hadn’t found something better to do like the others had when he’d first pulled out his phone. 

The student— undergrad, probably, with that baby face— jerked for a moment, and an expression crossed over his face just a tad too fast for him to track. Then, he smiled weakly and muttered an apology as he put the book in his hands on the shelf behind him, and scrammed.

Ugh. 

Kids these days.

Now if only ‘Thunderbolt’ could actually live up to the hype and get more men canvassing the area. If _**he**_ of all people could arrive and make it this far then _clearly_ they weren’t doing enough to lock down the campus and this was the best lead he'd found yet, he may not care about this ‘Hulk’ but he would ** _not_** let his son slip right through their fingers. Not now, not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost entirely caught up to what I've got on tumblr, plus or minus a few embellishments. 
> 
> Again, this AU wasn't originally written in chronological order, and was originally meant to be just found family fluff with no plot, so your guess is as good as mine as far as what's going to happen next.
> 
> ————
> 
> ...I can't even right now.


	16. Let The Guilty Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of old ghosts and new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** Canon-typical mental health issues, past trauma coming up and being dealt with in a relatively unhealthy way [drinking]. All in all, some angst, but it gets better because this is the AU where found family feels may not fix everything, but they sure as hell do help.

Tony hadn’t expected anyone else to be breaking into the technically-off-the-books laboratory. 

Look, in his defense, he was only here as a favor to Bruce, who was still very insistent on looking into a possible cure for his... _situation,_ even though Big Green was _way_ cooler than Bruce gave him credit for and this was one of the handful of buildings in this continent with the equipment they needed, okay? Ivan was under far too much scrutiny to poke around more than he was already doing, and it wasn't like they had any better options when it came to this niche a field.

After all, anything relating to gamma radiation was under a hilarious amount of restrictions after the Green Incident at Culver U. As such, it’d taken them months to get any leads as to what to do next and now here he was, dodging security guards while staring down a teenage girl who kept flickering in and out of existence while trying to yank away _his_ rightfully-stolen equipment. 

"Well, this is awkward."

So.

Apparently Howard Stark wasn’t the only rich asshole out there who abused his power to screw over anyone he didn’t like. Good to know.

Even if he’d expected better of Hank Pym, for some reason. Why, Tony didn’t know, but he had. At least he seemed to give a damn about his kid, if Hope didn’t look so happy then he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. Really, though: was it something in the water? _‘Oh, I’m rich and powerful, so I’m going to go out of the way to ruin the life of anyone that so much as annoys me?’_ Geez, these people.

Juno’s vendetta was against Howard, but...Tony was certain they wouldn't have any problems making an exception for Hank Pym.

“You’re really going to help us?” Bill Foster asked, no small amount of suspicion in his eyes and geez, who'd hurt this guy? [ _Oh wait..._ ] “Just like that, no strings attached?”

Tony gave a thin-lipped smile. “The interests I represent have an...let’s call it an _issue,_ with people like that. I can’t make any promises right now, but I’m sure we can come to some sort of accord. At the very least, we have resources. You’ve been, what, trying to make ends meet while finding a cure for your kid, right? Yeah, we can help.”

Ivan’s face was a picture when he found out. 

Tony didn’t blame him.

He hadn’t been much better, either: Bill Foster’s story of taking Ava and running when SHIELD had started talking about making his ward into a child soldier had been...something. Something that hit way, _way_ too close to home, and Tony had found himself splitting a bottle with Ivan in his workshop that same night because maybe it wasn't the _healthiest_ way to deal with the biggest deja vu of their goddamn lives but honestly?

Neither of them cared. Not right now. 

By all rights, it shouldn't have been a problem: they were acutely aware of the sort of baggage the other had, and it was all mostly settled by now. After all, Ivan was enacting his revenge on Howard Stark by living his best life, by being shamelessly _brilliant_ and forcing the man who had ruined his and his father's lives to deal with the consequences of his actions every time he so much as went out the door. For his part, Tony was perfectly content with staying the shadows, always three steps ahead of whatever machinations his father had going on and just _living_ his life surrounded by the people he cared about. They were all in a better place now, were **_safe._**

By all rights, it really, _really_ shouldn't have been a problem, but.

But Tony gave Ivan a bitter smirk in the darkened workshop regardless as he poured himself another shot of Ivan's hellishly expensive vodka, and wasn't surprised to see it returned.

But Ivan was the one to mockingly toast 'the rich bastards who seemed to have nothing better to do than screw people over' and then started laughing, and next thing he knew, they were swapping stories and making a drinking game out of it and Tony had never thought he'd talk about Cincinnati or the Killian Incident again but Ivan'd needed a distraction after talking about his father and so it was that when Uncle James found them a few hours later, they were both thoroughly sloshed when Ivan offered him the bottle— and promptly regretted it, when the man finished it off without so much as a hitch in his step afterwards as he herded them both to bed.

Right. Amnesiac supersoldier with the metabolism to match.

Well, at least he didn't rub it in when they dealt with their hangovers the next day. 

Pym Tech's stocks dropped by five points within the month, while Janus Enterprises' rose by twelve. It wasn't much, considering everything, but. It was enough to bring a smile to Bill's face when he saw the newspaper, and it was enough to make Ivan smirk when both Hank and Howard's faces soured as they caught sight of him at the next gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes things in the present remind you of a past you'd rather forget and no way is Tony relating way too much to Ava and Bill Foster's backstory, _nope, not at all..._
> 
> Okay, but really, everyone in this AU needs therapy because as much as they'd all go "oh don't worry about me, I'm _fine_ ", the one who's in the best place right now mentally is the amnesiac assassin who stress-bakes on a regular basis. Make of that what you will.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on tumblr. If you recognize anything else, it's because the original outline for this AU has been posted in its entirety as Chapter 2 of Of Was and When.


End file.
